


Life on a chariot

by Cicuta_virosa



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, M/M, Public Sex, Public sex is normal for Witchers, Rough Sex, Smut, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:35:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27839965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cicuta_virosa/pseuds/Cicuta_virosa
Summary: Marilka is getting too old to stay Geralt's daughter and she must make a choice. To stay in a human town or to take place in another Witcher's chariot, taking with them the roles Renfri, Adda and Jaskier have for Geralt. And more and more, as she hears them whine from pleasure and pain under him, she thinks she knows what she will choose.
Relationships: Eskel/Pavetta, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Adda of Temeria (The Witcher), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Renfri | Shrike
Kudos: 31





	1. Chapter 1

Tonight, they made camp early. Moving forward would put them too far away from the river they followed the last ten days, and everybody will be happy to partake in a last dip in the water tonight, before the next stretch of the path, three miserable days of swamp. Better to enjoy it a little longer.

Everybody has their own chores when they make camp, chores they sometimes rotate or exchange, and it’s Marilka’s turn with the laundry, definitely her less favourite: Geralt’s clothes have a tendency to be covered in blood, ichor, or whatever unholy horrors entrails he had to fight in the last days.

She does it without grumbling too much, for once it’s mostly dust and she knows this isn’t something she will ever escape. Laundry is like the turn of seasons, Jaskier is in the habits to say to motivate itself when his turn come: sometimes summer is a little longer, but winter will always come back.

She lets herself be distracted by the little creek where she works, collecting a good bunch of the starchy rhizomes of reedmaces and some crayfishes. They have enough rations in the chariot, but her first lesson when Geralt began to raise her, after Blaviken, was about the importance of foraging and preserving rations.

Nobody knows what the future holds, and a Witcher’s daughter, one day a Witcher’s bitch, even less.

When she goes back to camp, the fire is crackling, Renfri is preparing a deer she killed, Adda is working on potions and Jaskier has been pushed down to the ground, Geralt roughly taking what is his. Marilka isn’t surprised by the fucking: Geralt is breeding each of his three bitches three times a day, at minima. When Jaskier joined them, Renfri and Adda rejoiced, because just the two of them, it wasn’t enough to quench his appetites, even with the boost to their health that is being stuffed of Witcher’s semen. Marilka had talked during winters in Kaer Morhen to other Witcher’s children and she knew Geralt was quite considerate for a Witcher. He empties himself quite regularly into whores or complacent tavern servants, to let his bitches have a breather.

On the grass, Jaskier is gasping on his breath, crying in overstimulation, yelling when Geralt’s teeth find his shoulders in finishing. Geralt is done with him, his Witcher’s appetite sated for Jaskier, and he turns to the two others. Adda is already opening her dress and she lets Geralt manhandle her to the side of Jaskier, pulling her down, his cock searching for her well-used cunt. Later in the night, Marilka knows he will more take their time with them, but it will end in the same way: his bitches exhausted, holes gaping, trembling under the onslaught of a Witcher’s cock.

“Human aren’t really build to handle that,” Renfri had taught Marilka one day, “it’s too much. Too big, too long, his stamina too exhausting.”

“But you still follow him,” Marilka had asked, because she had only been with them for a few weeks, and she didn’t really understood.

Renfri had shrugged.

“Adda was a princess and she abandoned everything to follow him!” the young girl had insisted.

“Adda was of the opinion that better be a Witcher’s bitch, pounded three times a day by a good man, than being raped by her brother and listening to him call that love. Geralt can breed us every day for years, no child will come of that. And after having a taste of Geralt’s cock, how could a woman resign herself to whatever noddle is between Foltest’s legs?”

Renfri had smiled savagely when she had seen Marilka’s face.

“Be sure,” she still had warned her, “Remember, if you accept a place in another Witcher’s chariot, or to stay at the keep with one of the Teachers….once you take a Witcher’s cock, you will never go back.”

Marilka is thinking of that more and more. Adda is making tiny noises, punched out of her by the merciless pounding.

Marilka observes her. Soon, she will have to make a decision, too old to continue following the chariot as Geralt’s child. Can she see herself in that place, a Witcher’s weigh on her?

The former princess has a pained expression on her face but doesn’t squirm, accepting. Jaskier has rolled over once his breath was more normal, and he’s caressing Adda’s head, her back, her breasts, to help her stay firmly on the pleasant verse of the experience. Once Jaskier tried to explain to the teenager the strange frontier between pain and pleasure, the addiction which makes Renfri, Adda and himself roll over for Geralt, happy to play holes for his cock.

A former bandit princess, a former incestuous princess, and a bard. Other Witchers like to joke Geralt like his bitches original but Geralt doesn’t care for their opinion. A the beginning of their winters in the great keep, Marilka is always bringing food to their bed, because he doesn’t let the others go for days, fucking them for hours. In Kaer Morhen, he just doesn’t breed them, again and again, here he’s relaxed enough to push them to the maximum, pushing his fist into them, using their mouths, letting them covered in bites marks.

Before, Marilka found that exasperating, and she had slept in other rooms, instead of her cot at the end of their big bed.

Now…now, she likes to listen. Sometimes, she touches herself a little, listening to Geralt’s grunts and to the other pained moans of exhausted pleasure. She knows they know. That’s probably one of the reasons Geralt told her it was time for her to decide.

She could stay in any towns she passed, Geralt letting her with enough money to start a life, or she could take another Witcher for mate, one of the traveling ones or one of them who stay in the School year round. She knows he hopes it will be a Wolf: they will see each other more often, but he will accept also if Marilka becomes the bitch of a noble Griffin, or a powerful Bear.

This year, they are arriving to Kaer Morhen sooner than usual, and she knows it’s for her, for her to have long months to decide.

On her back into her bed roll, she observes the night sky, pondering her choices, letting the noises of fucking lull her into sleep, as Geralt breeds Adda again and Jaskier and Renfri wait for their turn.


	2. Chapter 2

This early, the great Keep is still half-empty. Witchers who came back early because of an injury, and their chariots occupants. The teachers. The trainees. It’s pleasant and for once Jaskier can leave the stone walls for the courtyard without feeling like his balls will crawl back into his body.

This year, Eskel came back early too, not because he was hurt but because he took responsibilities for two new Witcher’s children, twin whose parents were victims of a wraith and whose family refused to take care. They are no more than two years old, too young to survive the Killer in full winter.

Jaskier also thinks Eskel likes to come back early because Pavetta, one of his two bitches, likes to have more than just winter with her mother, who doesn’t leave the Keep anymore since Vesemir, whose life she shares, has become one of the trainers.

The elders of the School can posture all they want, everybody knows Calanthe is one of the power in the School, despite being officially simply one of the bitches of the fencing instructor! What a woman! Abandoning her throne in the dead of the night, after tearing the throat of her husband out, to be sure Pavetta would never be gifted to the unknown knight who had called the law of surprise. As a Witcher’s child, Pavetta would have more choices. Witchers don’t give up their children, or their bitches. Poor Vesemir didn’t have a chance when Calanthe set her views on him, the first Witcher she found, but he seems very happy about it, and when Pavetta chooses Eskel, it was her own choice.

Jaskier watches, attentive, as Geralt and Eskel hand their ass to more than thirty trainees at once. Vesemir likes to use them to take down the trainees and the young Witchers down a peg. Being kicked down by the wonder duo of the School is excellent to deflate the ego and the young Witchers are less arrogant when they start on the Path….so more likely to come back alive!

Renfri arrives to stand near Jaskier.

“Look,” she whispers.

Jaskier has already seen. Marilka is watching too, and certainly not Geralt.

“That would be such a good choice,” Jaskier whispers in return. “Eskel is a good man and Geralt would be less anxious about Marilka’s fate if she ends up one of his brother’s bitches.”

“Also good for Pavetta and…ah, what’s her name. Imagine, having to take Eskel, just two bitches!”

They wince. Three is definitely better to handle the appetites of a Witcher. And that’s with Geralt visiting brother every time he can, to leave them have a little peace.

Speaking of the Wolf, Eskel and Geralt are leaving the field, leaving behind moaning trainees, pitifully groaning. The thirty of them never really stood a chance. The next lesson of Vesemir will be taken more seriously!

Eskel nods to Jaskier and Renfri and goes to Pavetta, who was carding wool outside to enjoy the last rays of sun of the season. She laughs when he charges her on his shoulder and trots them inside the Keep, probably in search of a dark corner. His scars have made him shy…for a Witcher.

Geralt is less prude, unbothered by people, or at least here, in the Keep, where it’s safe. He simply pushes them out of the way of people going around to their chores and bend Renfri over the first ball of hay, next to the stalls. Here, like all bitches, she forgoes pants for easy access clothes and it’s only a moment to open his trousers and bundling up the heavy wool of her dress. The adrenaline of the fight doesn’t let him be nice. It’s easy to force his way inside: she’s still dripping from their latest romp. Witchers come a great lot, and the skinnier bitches are often round with it, a parody of what will never happen, because of the sterility.

Renfri arches for more the best she can, despite the just too much feeling. No matters how many times she takes it, it seems bigger every time. She pants, groans, cries, and she still arches again and again, pushing back into the punishing rhythm. Jaskier has seated himself next to them, pats her hair, whispering sweet nothings to encourage her.

“Just like that,” he croons, “Just like that, Renfri. Let it happen. Such a good bitch, you take him so well. Just like that, darling. Just let his cock stuffs you full.”

She comes so hard her vision goes blurry and when Geralt pulls out, she needs his help to turn on her back. He gets down her dress, and covers her with a horse blanket, to be sure she won’t get cold. It’s smelling so much of horse, it sends back Renfri to their first time, when he had tied her with the harness of Roach, to be sure she wouldn’t try to stab him during their feral coupling. Adda had yelled at Geralt, after, that a woman who could want to stab him was a terrible choice, but she had still helped Renfri that night, using her own cunt, her ass, her mouth, to be sure Geralt wouldn’t be too much for Renfri.

Sweet memories, especially the part where, while she was sleeping like the dead, exhausted by the experience, Geralt had gotten back to Blaviken and brought her back Stregobor’s head, the closeted romantic that he is.

Despite the sperm flowing from her cunt, Geralt is of course not done, still fully hard. Jaskier sinks down to his knees and starts by cleaning Geralt’s dick from her juices. Geralt lets him play for a few moments, then sinks his fingers into his hair and pulls him down, feeding him his cock roughly. Jaskier makes a muffled noise which could be interpreted as outraged, if the heavy wool of the not-a-dress-Geralt-stop-laughing-it’s-just-easier, didn’t let see how hard he is from the rough treatment. On the Path, Geralt is not very interested in their mouths, his brain insisting he must breed them, even if nothing will ever come out of it, and Jaskier loves getting his face fucked.

Renfri looks around, as much as she can as she’s not sure she can sits up right now. Marilka has disappeared and Renfri would bet a full handful of coins that she ran to try to watch Eskel and Pavetta, the little pervert.

Renfri couldn’t be more proud of her shared daughter.


	3. Chapter 3

Eskel had bent Pavetta over a barrel in one of the storage rooms. The door isn’t even closed and in Kaer Mohren, it’s almost an invitation. Marilka watches through the slit, admiring the spectacle. He has pushed her skirt up, baring her legs and ass to the cold air of the room, but only pushed down his pants, and this coupling half-dressed seems even more erotic. Like their room and their bed was too far away for the desire. Pavetta is biting Eskel’s thumb in an effort to muffle the noises pushed from her every time his cock rocks into her cunt but Eskel’s grunts and the sounds of flesh must warn every Witcher five corridors down from the room.

A Witcher fucking one of his bitches isn’t exactly new. Geralt has been raising her for years after all, and she had seen him plough his three bitches countless times, and here in the great keep, nobody is exactly body shy. For fuck’s sake, the first time she had seen Vesemir, he had been balls deep into Pavetta’s mother. But as she admires Eskel’s hips rolling into Pavetta, it’s different. The former Princess is whining more and more, broken sounds as Eskel’s teeth play with her neck, and Marilka chews on her lips, trying to imagine. She has fooled around with trainee, or with other Witcher’s children, but nothing more than kisses and a little bit of humping, and she wants, with a hunger which burns in her lower belly. Wants to leave childhood behind, wants to participate to a chariot’s decisions, and not be the child who just has to follow, wants to enter a town her head held high, as women watch her and whisper bad words, and to know no one of them will know what it is, a Witcher’s cock. She wants to help raise the twins Eskel and his two bitches adopted this season, and to know Geralt is proud of how she follows one his brothers. She wants to pant into the bedding and to know this too-much-and-not-enough Jaskier is making dirty limericks about, which he only sings here, in the Keep, making all Witchers look embarrassed and all Witcher’s bitches smile knowingly.

And Eskel…She knows Eskel, as much as a gentle Knight as a Wolf can be, she knows of his pain and his scars and the bad choice he made once, and how hard he works on protecting the innocents. She knows of his laugh when he visits Geralt’s rooms in the Keep and gossips with Jaskier about the latest poems of their favourite authors, and that he’s the most patient of teachers with the younger trainees.

She flees before Eskel and Pavetta are finished, up, up, into the Keep, until she’s in Geralt’s room, on her cot, and she bundles up her skirt and presses, searches with her fingers, wincing as she goes too hard, then finally finding satisfaction, as she pushes herself into orgasm.

She’s airing the room and pretending to read when Geralt arrives, hair damp from a dip into the baths and his eyebrows climb into his hair line.

He sighs, sits next to her. He needs a moment to speak, but she knows him; never mistook his silence for disinterest.

“You know I would visit if you choose a human town.” He begins and she makes a face. As if she could resign herself to the boring life of a human settlement.

After a moment, he starts again:

“Witcher’s biology-“ and she cuts him

“Oh please, Renfri and Adda tooke care of that conversation years ago.”

“Thanks fuck.”

She laughs, almost until she cries, and his big hand covers her head. He rarely touch her, his care and affection always more expressed in protection and gruff words, but this time he guides her until her head is against his shoulder, one of his arm around her.

“I will miss you during the year on the Path, Daughter, “ he says, in a low tone, and she smiles against the cloth of his tunic; “And I will speak to Eskel tonight.”

This evening, Marilka takes her dinner between Eskel and Pavetta, facing Morénn; Eskel’s other bitch. They just talk, learning a little more about each other. They have all winter to be sure, if they want, and no pressure to decide for now.

That night, when Marilka is in her cot, she listens to the noises as Geralt mounts his three bitches one after the other, and back again, and her hand creeps behind her legs. She has all winter and more if she wants to be sure, but she already knows. She listens as Adda begs for more, her voice breaking at whatever Geralt is doing and in her mind, a scarred face with gentle amber eyes and a mop of brown hair is the one whose fingers explore her cunt. She sees Renfri, naked as the day she was born, walk unashamed across the room to fetch a glass of water and she makes less efforts than usual to pretend she’s sleeping, observing the light fingers shaped bruises on her hips.

Marilka knows. Marilka wants. She hopes she can convince Eskel to not wait until spring.


End file.
